iPolar

No, the title is not a typo and no, Apple has not laid claim and patents to mental illness (yet). I was watching one of my new fave shows earlier, iZombie and it just hit home how their script parallels mental illness, just with zombies.

She (lead character, Liv)is turned into a zombie. She gets a job working in the morgue and there she procures the brains she needs to eat. Except with every brain comes traits and memories of the person they belonged to. She uses this to help police solve crimes, et al. But, and this is loosely quoted, she said something to the extent of, “You know you’re under the influence of the brain you just ate but knowing it isn’t enough to keep you from doing stupid things.”

bing bing bing bing.

iPolar.

I know much of the time my brain is distorting and lying. And I should “know better” than to act upon any distortions. Yet so much of my life is lost in bipolar limbo, knowing you may be about to burn a bridge because you’re mind is altered…isn’t enough to stop you.

Key thing being, altered mental state.

And there is no denying that in the past few weeks I have been altered to the nth. Med changes and anxiety spikes, recurrence of panic attacks, manic episode, crushing depressive episode…I’m a train wreck who wants to be a nicely appointed bullet train with a specific destination.

I was in the dish maybe 3.75 hours today. And I faked it and it sucked. Because even if my mood is “meh”…The anxieties, and panic, are crystal friggin clear. It’s all in my head. It won’t kill me. I’m making too big of a deal of it. Suck it up.

No more possible than avoiding the side effects of a zombie eating brains (usually of really evil people, or just shitty.)

iPolar.

iPanic.

Truth be told, I’d almost rather be a zombie and eat brains than have mental illness. There’d be more compassion involved and fewer side effects from brains than psych meds. That and I just really like the word zombie.

But I have escaped the dish of petri for today and am calming down (even though crazytown thoughts are still bouncing off the walls of my brain, reminding me I have a gazillion things to be anxious about and 80% are feasible threats.) Mrs. R’s coming back tonight so I am looking forward to three straight days of not being at his beck and call. Or I hope so. If she has plans, that could put the baby into alone territory and then he will be beckoning. He who makes fun of me for being broke, gripes that he’s flat busted, yet just loaned five grand to his daughter and her husband.

What the actual fuck. His kids are all so educated and employed and all. LIES.

On a side note, he was on his Sandy Hook conspiracy thing again (and I do not dispute the fishiness to that story) but he brought up the Google map thing to show how it won’t let you see the school. Then he showed my how to get from his house to the shop on Google maps. And son of a bitch, there’s a picture of the shop, on Google, with my car in the lot, and oh, me smoking a cig on the front step. Thanks for blurring my face you evil privacy destroying cretins, but FUCK OFF. Next time I see that creepy Google car anywhere near me I am going to flip it off with both fingers. I lead a quiet life, use pen names on line, avoid social media like the plague and rarely post specific details about myself. Yet courtesy of Google I am etched into the internet. No one knows who I am, but it’s still creepy to the nth fucking degree.

I love my technology and all but this is ridiculous. Blurring my face isn’t entitling me to privacy. It’s just making me a little less conspicuous. And it’s creepifying. The donor always said, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.

Such bullshit. I don’t need to have anything to hide just to expect a modicum of privacy. Sitting outside should not be an activity that allows Google to invade your privacy whether they blur details or not. Now I gotta ponder how many pics might be out there when I hurriedly dashed out in t-shirt and panties to feed the cats. Sooo my paranoia monster has reared its head, the panic is off to the races and I’d like to know why the fuck I am not entitled to sit outside in bumfuck without Google taking pictures. What happened to “don’t be evil” as your motto, assclowns? Just what I needed, more to fuel my insanity.

Bloody hell. Zombiehood can not come soon enough. I will trade anxiety disorder for eating brains any day.

2 Responses to “iPolar”

Sounds kinda like the movie “Warm Bodies” where the character “R”-no joke-eats a girl’s bf’a brains then freaks out. But I like that humanity can be restored. And I like John Malcovich. Fucking ipolar is on a bullet train to disaster, and it’s picking up speed. I’m driving, but is that a good thing? Toot toot. Ill take your panic and anxiety, but you can have my jaw clenching.